


heaven doesn't seem so far away anymore

by princessoftheworlds



Series: fool me once, fool me twice [4]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Boeshane Peninsula, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Immortal Ianto Jones, M/M, Making Love, Missing Scene, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: After two millennia apart, Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones finally have their long-awaited reunion...and then some.or:“I promise,” replies Jack. “I will follow you anywhere, even in death.”
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Series: fool me once, fool me twice [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819213
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	heaven doesn't seem so far away anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flamingbluepanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamingbluepanda/gifts).



> So a few weeks ago, Alicia asked for janto reunion smut set after Chapter 9 of fool me once, and I being the obliging fool that I am, put this off for a bit until I was finally in the right mindset to write this, and thus I did. I'm actually kinda proud of this, and I hope you guys like it as a kinda filler moment between chapters 9 and 10 of fool me once. Hopefully, if it isn't obvious by now, you should probably have read fool me once, fool me twice to make sense of this, but if you haven't, one...what are you doing? Two: the gist is that the Rift turned Ianto immortal and he chased Jack across the universe for 2,000 years until they finally reunited on a beach in Boeshane. Now go on and read this smut????
> 
> I hope this cheers you up, Alicia????
> 
> Also, this is my 100th fic on here!!!

The door to the futuristic flat flings open with enough force that it bangs against the connecting wall, and two dark-haired men, one with piercing blue eyes and the other’s eyes stormy, stumble through, barely ceasing in their snogging to breath and shut the door behind them.

As the men quickly kick off their boots, Jack’s rucksack falls gently to the ground right next to the door. “Nice place,” Jack says, one arm wrapped firmly around Ianto’s waist, the other man absorbed with sucking colorful bruises along the exposed skin of Jack’s neck. He stifles a moan when Ianto sucks on a particularly sensitive area, instead eyeing the many large windows that give the flat an airy feel. “Wanna give me the t-”

Eyes narrowed, Ianto lifts his head, hands already smoothing out the greatcoat; even after two thousand years, the instinct to care for Jack, to tend to and protect his coat, still haven’t faded. “We’ll have time for the flat tour  _ after _ I get fucked by the man I haven’t seen in about two millennia.” He latches on roughly to Jack’s wrist, pulling. “Bedroom’s this way.”

With a bemused air, Jack follows, never one to protest in the face of sex. 

Once the greatcoat is slipped off and carefully hung next to a handsomely-cut jacket reminiscent of Ianto’s simplistic style, clothes are hurriedly stripped, hands roving every inch of exposed skin. Lips meet briefly again before a naked Jack shoves the correspondingly naked Ianto onto the bed, his eyes feasting on the body he hasn’t seen, hasn’t touched, hasn’t felt against his in what feels like an  _ eternity _ .

“Do you have some kind of lube?” Jack asks.

The thing about Javic Thane, Captain Jack Harkness, or whatever name he’s known by to his friends, lovers, and enemies is that even before he became a fixed point of time and space, he was a beautiful sight, gorgeous smile, eyes like the Boeshane waters, all sinewy muscle and sunkissed skin. Now, with the addition of the years they’ve lost and Ianto’s deep affection for Jack, Ianto can’t tear his eyes away from him, which means it takes him a minute or two to register Jack’s question and then reply.

“Sorry, what?”

The skin around Jack’s lips crinkles as his mouth cracks into a wide, warm smile. “Lube,” he repeats, “slick, oil, literally anything that means I’ll be able to fuck you without hurting you.”

Ianto could argue that intense pleasure is worth a little pain, but he doesn’t want sadism and kink on the table for his reunion with Jack; there will be enough time for that later. Now, they have all the time in the world, nay, all the time in the universe. 

“Here,” Ianto says, tossing Jack a small bottle he fetches from his side table.

Carefully, Jack reads the label, chuckling: “Bodiff nut oil.” One of his eyebrows rises in astonishment. “Now, here’s something I haven’t seen or used in a while. You really have gone native, haven’t you, Ianto Jones?”

“It’s fucking lube,” Ianto snaps frustratedly. “You can reminisce later.  _ Fuck me _ .”

The humor shining in Jack’s eyes is quickly overtaken by dark lust at Ianto’s words. “When you put it so nicely,” Jack purrs, “I must oblige.” 

In deliberate, graceful movements, he first props one knee onto the bed and then the other until he sits on his haunches before Ianto’s splayed body, leering down at the other man. Jack flips the cap of oil and pours enough out until his hands are drenched in the substance. Then with slick fingers, he gently pushes Ianto’s legs up until Ianto can fold them and hold them tightly against his chest, exposing the small, pink furl of Ianto’s hole. 

Inhaling sharply at the sight, Jack reaches out to trail his thumb across Ianto’s hole to drag the skin and muscles apart, the other man shivering; in other circumstances, he would bury his face there and bring Ianto to orgasm with his tongue alone, rimming his lover until he was reduced to a quivering, sobbing mess of pleasure, but right now, he just needs to be  _ inside  _ of Ianto, as close to him as physically possible, as they haven’t been in two thousand years. 

Yet the sight of Ianto’s body pale Welsh skin, chest dark with hair, lithe limbs, and broad shoulders, the healthy rolls of fat along his torso, is enough to reduce _ Jack  _ to a state of reverence. He sighs, wanting to ghost his hands all over Ianto, savoring every perfect inch.

“Take your time later,” Ianto whispers, holding Jack’s gaze long enough for both men to shudder before nodding. The message is received well-enough -  _ we have time _ . Right now is all about the immediate connection.

With that knowledge in mind, Jack sinks a finger in Ianto’s hole, hooking it around until it trails over the lump of Ianto’s prostate, upon which he then presses. Ianto  _ keens _ , eyes rapidly fluttering shut.

“More,” he demands in a low, raspy baritone, and Jack gladly obliges, slowly pressing in another finger inside Ianto. Using careful, practiced movements, Jack scissors Ianto open wide enough, watching the other man whine and grunt softly, the noises beautiful music to Jack’s ears, until he can easily slide in a third finger. Slowly, he turns all three fingers inside Ianto, widening his hole as much as he can until his fingers ache. Then he slips his hand free from Ianto, and Ianto grits his teeth, head bowing at the sudden  _ emptiness _ inside him. “You bastard, Jack Harkness.”

“Strangely enough, I remember you being more polite,” Jack attempts, and he sees Ianto’s eyes darken, but it’s not with lust.

_ No _ , Ianto mouths quietly to him. Their pasts must stay out of this precious moment to allow them to focus on the present, on the  _ now _ . Jack nods, understanding instantly; there’s always been this almost-psychic connection between him and Ianto that allows them to read each other instinctively, and it’s making its reappearance now. 

To rekindle the passion of only a few minutes previous, Jack wraps his hand around Ianto’s cock, tugging and teasing until Ianto is bucking his hips upwards, pouting. “Be patient,” Jack chastises, grinning mischievously when Ianto’s expression becomes displeased. “I can either give you a handjob or I can fuck you. Your choice.”

“Fuck me,” Ianto immediately replies, dropping his knees. He shifts further up, his back draped against the pile of pillows on the bed, and watches impassively as Jack reaches for his own cock, rubbing his own hole and toying with his balls, hissing at the pleasurable sensations, before finally stroking himself firmly once, twice, and then a third time. Ianto’s eyebrows knit together as Jack selfishly continues on, then he parrots his words back to him: “You can either give yourself a handjob or you can fuck me. Your choice.”

Jack shakes his head and chuckles. “You are one of a kind, Ianto Jones.”

“No,” Ianto corrects. “I’m two of a kind, just like you.” 

The reminder that Ianto is  _ never going to leave him _ is enough to make Jack abandon his cock and quickly climb over Ianto to press a quick kiss across his collarbone, trailing up to his jaw, and then on his mouth. They snog hard and messily until they’re forced to break apart for breath, Ianto’s eyes glazed over. 

Then just as quickly as Jack had ambushed Ianto with a kiss, he’s back off the bed, standing before Ianto, cock in hand. Slowly,  _ agonizingly slowly _ , he pushes into Ianto, both men moaning low and deep. Ianto’s head lolls back against the pillows. Finally, when Jack’s completely seated inside Ianto, the other man having tugged his knees back against his chest, Jack clambers back over Ianto, and Ianto wraps those lithe legs around Jack’s lower back. He braces himself on his arms above Ianto, staring down at the one face that’s haunted him consistently for two millennia. 

“I love you,” Jack whispers and uses his dry hand to trace the features of Ianto’s face, his sharp cheekbones, his soft lips, those expressive eyebrows. He trails his thumb across Ianto’s slightly fuller lower lip, snorting when Ianto playfully nips at it. “I love you, Ianto Jones.”

“I love you too, Jack Harkness,” Ianto replies softly, and his blue eyes hold multitudes of emotion, too many at once for Jack to properly decipher, but most prominent is  _ euphoria _ , a deep euphoria that Jack had only seen on Ianto in rare circumstances but that his youthful face wore so well. 

“ _ Ianto _ ,” breathes Jack, panting slightly from the exquisite sensation of Ianto squeezing around him and bearing down on his cock. He breaks the one promise he just made Ianto moments previous. “I missed you.” Jack’s eyes well up with tears. “I missed you  _ so much _ . When you died, some part of me forgot how to breath, and I didn’t realize that it still remembered how to until I had you in my arms again.”

Ianto trembles beneath Jack, legs tightening their grasp around Jack, as Jack flays his own chest open and lays bare his heart, his soul, to him. All those years, all this vulnerability, it is too much for the normally stoic man, and he too finds himself overwhelmed, hot tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “It doesn’t matter, Jack,” he says soothingly. “You have me back again.  _ I have you back _ . I’m never going to leave you again.” He inhales sharply. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Jack insists, gasping and sniffling. “All that time with you I lost.”

Gently, Ianto ghosts a hand along Jack’s back. “We have time,” he promises. “More than enough time. An eternity, in fact. The universe owes us that much.” Then he glances down, clenching around Jack’s cock, voice taking a note of humor. “I’m surprised that you haven’t gone soft yet.”

“My cock is always hard for you, Ianto Jones,” replies Jack, but to Ianto’s immense relief, the emotion of his previous declarations is gone, mostly only laughter and mischief remaining in his tone. Jack pulls his hips back slightly and then thrust forward, and Ianto gasps. 

“Fuck.”

“I intend to do that, yes,” Jack says, punctuating each word with a thrust. “Thanks for reminding me.” 

Ianto’s wry chuckles stretch out into a breathy, gasping moan as Jack sets a strict teasing rhythm with his hips, cock shoving up so directly against Ianto’s prostate, colorful sparks exploding against the darkness of Ianto’s vision when his eyes slide shut. He reaches up and hooks an arm around Jack’s neck, hanging out for the ride but reciprocating as much as Jack gives; Ianto uses his free hand to trace along the muscles and fleshy bits of Jack’s chest, the other man shivering, pinching and twisting Jack’s sensitive nipples until Jack keens and grunts with every thrust.

If the bright Boeshane sunlight coming through the many windows in Ianto’s bedroom were to be ignored, Jack and Ianto could be making love in twenty-first century Cardiff, in the darkness of Jack’s bunker or in the hazy pale light of dawn breaking through into Ianto’s original flat. There is no comparing their coupling to nights they’ve shared with other lovers; those memories, of Ianto with Ariadne, of Jack with Salinger of Nessa, are sacred and precious and unique in their own right but have no place here. There is nothing that can be compared to a lovemaking shared between two men who know each other’s bodies better than they might know their own, who know  _ each other  _ almost better than they know themselves. 

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” Ianto pants, doing everything physically possible to draw Jack closer to him, but it still isn’t enough. He whines, open-mouthed, and tosses his head aside, unable to meet Jack’s gaze with the intensity of their passion, but Jack won’t allow it.

“Hey,” Jack says sternly and gently but firmly grasps Ianto’s jaw, turning his lover’s face back towards him. “I know it’s too much right now, but you’re not alone. You can feel me inside you.” Obediently, Ianto bears down on Jack’s length, nodding. “You’re going to ache for  _ hours  _ after this, remembering me inside you, and that will serve as a reminder that you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone again.”

“Promise?” Ianto asks, nuzzling his nose against the sweaty curve of Jack’s neck.

“I promise,” replies Jack. “I will follow you anywhere, even in death.”

Ianto wrinkles his nose, snorting goodnaturedly. “That doesn’t mean much now, considering that neither of us can die.”

“I’m going to ignore you trying to undermine my emotional moment,” Jack retorts. Neither men’s tears have dried, but they are smiling more than sobbing and sniffling. Jack deliberately thrusts  _ hard _ inside of Ianto and watches the other man’s expression fall slack; as he gazes upon Ianto, he can feel his orgasm approaching, so he reaches down between them and takes Ianto’s cock in hand, beginning to tug Ianto in strong strokes.

“I’m close,” Ianto murmurs, pressing his forehead against Jack’s and feeling the other man pant against his own damp skin. 

“So am I,” gasps Jack, movements frantic and harsh as they begin to speed up. He can feel his balls tightening as he teeters on the precipice of his pleasure, but he won’t fall without Ianto, so he increases the rhythm of his strokes, rubbing his thumb along the head of Ianto’s cock. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

In response, Ianto only tightens his grip around Jack, finally reduced to wordlessness; he whimpers, his limbs twitching slightly, hands fisting in the smooth cotton of his sheets.

It would be too easy to lie, to try to make the moment more better by saying both men came together, but Jack comes first, spilling his release inside Ianto, his lover’s name on his lips, which triggers Ianto’s own orgasm as the other man’s back arches, spine rising up from the bed, shoulders and head slumping against the pillows, crying out Jack’s name. Both men’s tears have returned, flowing freely and dampening Ianto’s pillowcases. Wetness pools against Ianto’s neck from where Jack’s face is shoved against his shoulder as both men cling together, overwhelmed with the pleasure of their reunion. 

Finally, Jack slips out of Ianto and rolls off of him, settling down on the bed beside him, chest trembling. He reaches over to grasp Ianto’s hand tightly and weave their fingers together, reluctant to let him go for even a moment.

Briefly tired, the men are only getting started. They will make love well into the night, gasping affirmations and affections into each other’s skin. They will relearn and remap the bodies they never really forgot, the approaching darkness turning each waning moment of precious daylight into liquid gold.

Right now, however, Jack turns his head lazily to gaze at Ianto, who nuzzles closer. 

“You realize that we might be the luckiest damn bastards in the universe,” Jack says wryly but happily. His smile is bright enough to power a colony world. “Even death couldn’t keep us apart.”

“I think,” Ianto begins, lips brushing against Jack’s sweaty skin, “that, rather than death, it was sheer willpower that brought you back to me.”

“Death, willpower, fate,” replies Jack, “I don’t care what it was. I have you back, Ianto Jones, and I won’t be letting go of you so easily now.”

“Selfish bastard,” Ianto retorts, clambering on top of Jack and leaning down to snog him, “but you’re my selfish bastard. I won’t be letting go of you either, Jack Harkness.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wellllll, I hope you liked that?????? Comment and kudo por favor; feed this college student who will probably be suffering around the time I post this lmao. I have a few more fool me once spinoffs planned, and they'll come, slowly and surely, just like Jack and Ianto did. No promises about when tho. Stick around, shoot me some ideas if there's anything you wanna see in particular? 
> 
> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik). I tweet and reblog mostly Torchwood with occasionally amusing commentary on nonsense. Please come talk to me and tell me if/how much you like my fic or like ask me about it on tumblr; all my schoolwork has become remote now, and I have limited social interaction.


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